{#6} So what?

I used to think I had life figured out. I used to think that my life could be great if I wanted it to, and I used to think that I was going to be just fine. But it isn’t like that. You need to fight, and you need to scream, and you need to cry, and you need to move on because this is life, and it hurts like hell, and it stabs you in the back a few times, and eventually, it kills you. You never know how long your life is gonna be, maybe you’ll live for a really long time, and maybe you’ll die tomorrow. And truth is, I wouldn’t want to know. If I were to die tomorrow, I wouldn’t have any regrets. I do what I do, and I like what I like, and people don’t like me for it, and honestly I don’t care. I don’t give a shit about it. I know I am hard to deal with and I know I don’t know anything about myself, or anybody else, but this is my life and these are my choices, and this is mine. This is the only thing I can control, and I barely do. For a really long time I thought that I could make a change, I thought that my words or my feelings or the things I say would make someone’s life great, but I can’t, and they don’t. I want life to be good for me, not for everybody else. I’ve been here for almost 17 years, and I haven’t made a difference. And I don’t care anymore. I want the difference to be for me. I want my writings and the things I do and think to mean something to me, because that’s what life’s about. Not about making something that matters to other people, but to make it matter to yourself. Because I’ve realized that I’m alone in this. I came here alone, and I’m going to go alone. And I don’t really care, as long as I have myself. As long as I don’t lose myself. I don’t have life figured out. I don’t have myself figured out. But I’m done trying to do it, I’m going to let it come by itself. Because if there is a meaning to life, and to love, and to pain, I don’t think we’re meant to know it. I’m alone, I am. I’m lonely. I’m a mess. I don’t fit in. People talk about me. So what?